


The Myers Complex

by Godsliltippy, MadameWinter



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godsliltippy/pseuds/Godsliltippy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameWinter/pseuds/MadameWinter
Summary: Happy Halloween 2018!On a routine rescue, deep in the belly of a cave, Gordon and Virgil come face to face with a nightmare that will leave more than a few scares to deal with...





	The Myers Complex

**Author's Note:**

> Weee! So this was our first time writing a full story together! It was a ridiculous amount of fun! Hope y'all enjoy it!
> 
> Sorry it's so long x_x

_Name… name.... Gordon Tracy…_

 

_Date… uh… May 13th 2067…_

 

_Where… dark… cave? Ow… right… a rescue… off the coast of Italy…_

 

It had seemed so routine. A Boat. A hurricane. Grounded Coastguard. People in danger. Simple. Where had it gone wrong?

 

He still wasn't sure why the cave hadn't been on any of the maps John had provided, but considering it was a speck on the length of ocean front, it could have been easily missed, or a product of the current storm. The boat they had been sent out to rescue was lodged on the rocks, teetering and empty. The two occupants had been swept off and dragged within the dark confines of the cliff. It was a miracle they had survived, able to get a weak message out before the remainder of the opening collapsed, sealing them inside.

 

By the time they had reached the danger zone, the storm had become a hurricane and Scott was forced to turn back Thunderbird 1 as the wind lashed for constant control. Thunderbird 2 was steadier, plowing through the weather at a turtle’s pace. Virgil had joked that the hare had called on account of rain, but agreed that this had to be one of the worst storms encountered. John had been busy all morning fielding the calls, redirecting, and had even remotely deployed EOS into a power station's system to activate a shut down after an overload. It was supposed to be yet another disaster.

 

Maybe he should have seen the signs when John failed to get a full map scan of the area. Electromagnetic interference, he had sighed, flicking between screens rechecking with his little space fairy on the result.

 

 _“There isn’t anything geologically recorded as a danger. Cliffs are predominantly granite and any caves are well documented.”_ The astronaut had sounded pretty convinced.

 

Gordon made a mental note to have John rescan the cliffs when he found his way back to Thunderbird 4. There was definitely more than granite hidden away in the stones.

 

He lay still for a few more minutes, trying to relax through the ache in his head and back… _ow, quit moving…_ He'd forgotten about his arm. Almost all of him ached, but the only thing that seemed potentially broken was his right forearm. Most likely, a fracture, his suit providing enough support to prevent anything further.

 

 _What happened?_ The comm was silent and he had yet to test it, not wanting to increase his discomfort until the aches were more manageable. The mental shakedown had helped eliminate the question of a concussion, but it didn’t change the fact that his head felt very shaken. Thankfully, nausea and confusion had decided to stay home. He cast his mind back, trying to recall the events that had lead him to this cramped, dismal and decidedly damp space.

 

Gordon and Virgil were to determine the best route to reach the survivors still buried somewhere in the cave system and report back. Scott and Alan remained on the island to wait out the storm and fly in when an opening made itself known. After launching thunderbird 4 into the choppy seas, an undersea cavern, large enough to taking the scout ship’s size was selected as an entrance rather than burrowing down into the system with the mole. Another collapse could potentially kill anyone they hoped to find. Much to his dismay, Gordon didn’t get far into the cave before having to leave the sub. He had suspected that the space was too small for Thunderbird 4, but it had, at the time, seemed the best bet. As he found himself swimming into tighter gaps, however, he wondered at what point it would become too narrow for himself. He had cut some of the gaps wider with his laser, marking them for the return trip.

 

As he was burrowing through a particularly large mound, something had gone wrong. Rocks beneath his hand shifted as he pulled his way through. A powerful suction wrenched him backwards, his hands clawing for purchase. He cried out as he found himself free falling, water cascading all around him… and then, a sudden and painful stop before everything went black.

 

Gordon gazed up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pulsating pain in his ribs, his arm laying across his chest. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. Torn metal grates, rock and algae streamers dangled above him like a chandelier, only instead of illuminating the space, it dripped dank sea water onto his helmet. How long had he been out? His uninjured hand came up to his helmet, activating the link. “Thunderbird 2?”

 

His calls were only met by a sporadic hiss of noise, feedback whining unhappily until cutting off into empty silence. “Virgil, can you hear me?” Again, no one responded. He glanced back up at the hole accusingly. “Typical...”

 

The only answer that came to him was interference from the mass of rock, earth and whatever this place was between him and the air above.  It sounded thin even to him. He could only hope his brother’s Tracy-Instinct would kick in soon and he would come looking. It was always a good bet.

 

He glanced up at the rusting metal that twisted out from the hole. It was so oddly out of place amongst the solid granite, erupting from the rock with seemingly no purpose. It shouldn’t be there, but it was.

 

Slowly, minding his arm, Gordon pushed himself up, finally realizing he had been laying in a few inches of water. Whatever had opened up must have closed after him, otherwise he would've been laying under a waterfall. The water was the least of his worries, however as daggers dug into his back along his ribs. Not broken, but he had to bite back a cry through the pain. He gripped one of the rocks beside him, steadying himself as his breath released from his chest.

 

The pain softened to a throb, catching his breath each time he shifted. “Couldn't ‘ve- landed on a bunch of- pillows? Is it too-much ta’ ask?” He grumbled into the darkness. Getting to his feet was the next hurtle, relying heavily on the wall as he grit through the knives in his side. “Nope!” His eyes clenched shut. “It's always- rocks.”

 

Gordon was surprised to find the pain was much more bearable standing upright, but that didn't stop the shuddering gasps as he again waited. At least he could move. At least he wasn't stuck in this hole with limited and dangerous ways for Virgil to reach him. The image of the mole pod tearing through the cramped cave sent an undesired shiver up his spine.

 

Helmet lights had been active since entering the cavern, but he was forced to pull out his flashlight to get a better view of his surroundings. It was a cave, about five feet across, that lead to a shadowed hole, indented into the rockwall. Piles of loose stone lay at its base from years of erosion. The water that streamed from it helped explain much of the damage to the cave. However, Gordon tried not to speculate on how a hole that specifically round could have manifested on its own. Instead, he focus on the probability that it could lead to a way back up or to his destination. He still had a directive to follow, and hopefully, it would result in his own rescue.

 

Gingerly, he began his trek through the opening, stumbling as his injuries spiked with protest as his footing faltered over the stone debris littering the path. Gordon paused at a large rock outcrop, leaning his weight against it. Realizing how difficult it would be to traverse onward with his injured arm, he propped himself against the slimy wall, holding the flashlight under his arm to free up his hands. He'd decided earlier that it was at least fractured. Sighing, he rummaged into his belt, pulling out one of Virgil's collapsible splits. He lay it across the bothersome appendage, adjusting the band to a snug fit. The discomfort was only momentary as he tried to one-hand the internal pieces together, having to pause and collect himself a few times in the process. It was worth it in the end, however, the limb far more useful with only a small amount of pain as he continued on.

 

As he walked, Gordon realised that the ground slanted slightly upwards. Water had stopped past a point, after passing its source; a crack too small for him to squeeze through. This meant he was in complete silence, the sounds of his splashing replaced by the dull thud of his shoes. Even the crashing of the ocean had faded away.

 

“Come in, Thunderbird 2?” He decided to make his own noise to offset the discomfort creeping across his shoulders. “Thunderbird 5?... Base?” Too bad his voice was the only thing echoing off the walls. “I'd settle for anybody at the moment?” Another hiss of static and more silence. Part of him wondered if the garbled sounds were from his brothers trying to reach him. That was a pleasant thought. They wouldn't leave him down here if they could do anything about it.

 

“Virgil, if you can hear me, I'm gonna try to get to what appears to be another main cave. Hopefully, we can stick to- Ahh!”

 

He was falling, the ground gone as he had taken another step. Abandoning the flashlight, he pulled out his grapple and armed it, firing back up towards what he hoped was solid rock. A metallic _tink_ and the line snapped, cutting off his descent with a bone jarring jerk.

 

“Ho, crap-” He breathed through the initial shock, one arm still holding tight to the grapple. He took a moment to look down and saw the glow from his flashlight farther below. Not much farther though. It had been a close call. “This cave is trying to kill me.” His breathless frustration was accompanied by the sound of his line extending out, lowering him gently to the ground.

 

Once down, he collected the light and swept it across his new surroundings. What he found was far from what he'd expected. Instead of stone walls, stalagmites, or other rocks that could want to cause him bodily harm, a sprawling industrial complex spread out under him. It appeared long abandoned and covered in dirt and rust like a sleeping giant.

 

“Holy…” Eyes wide with his newfound discovery,  the beam traveled over the exterior, illuminating a leviathan of pipes that snaked around the floor into the rock from vast rusting containers and machinery that Gordon wasn’t sure had a name, all caged in with support struts. Tanks and what looked like old reactors sat surrounded, with sheet metal sloughing off as rust ate at it. Platform bridges criss-crossed the room like webs, linking the huge bodies of equipment. Gordon continued to look around when a flash caught his attention. Grime-covered windows were set into what seemed to be constructed buildings, their structures protruding from the rock. An oversight station. He could see antennae protruding from one of the buildings. Gordon felt giddy. That meant most certainly a radio.

 

Gordon was already moving the light to try and find some kind of entrance. If he could get inside, he could find the communication system and hopefully get in touch with his brothers. Hopefully… if this place was still marginally operational. There was always the option of hooking his gear into the system, but that would mean giving up his supply of clean air. Who knows what this place had been manufacturing. They always wore helmets for a reason.

 

The light continued on its path over the lower levels until it came to rest on a door, open and barely hanging on one hinge. The only problem, it was several feet below him and a trek over the machinery that seemed to be happily rusting in peace. He would have to climb, praying that he wouldn’t disturb something too fragile.

 

Maybe he did have a concussion, a wave of nausea forcing him to take a steadying breath as he thought of the task he had set before himself. This was going to hurt, but thankfully the gecko gloves would provide some security if he lost his grip.

 

He let the gapple slowly lower him down onto what looked to be a solid pipe, clicking the line off and letting it snap back into the roll for later. His light swept the tangled mass of piping, searching for the next step down that didn’t require a jump. Dropping to sit on the pipe, he let one leg search for a solid surface, sliding down when he knew it could hold him. It creaked as he let it take his full weight. The gecko gloves clicked into action, keeping him anchored to the pipe and whatever supports remained to hold it in place. Breath caught as the pipe suddenly shifted. It moaned pitifully, echoing around the huge cavern making Gordon's heart leap into his mouth.

 

“Maybe I should have just jumped. Couldn't do anymore damage.” He tested the pipe below him in similar fashion as before, sliding down to allow it to take his weight. It broke. Gordon shouted, toppling downwards into the dark mass of pipes. It wasn’t a big fall, but the noise as he landed reverberated around the room. Pain jolted through his ribs, catching his breath as his knees buckled under him. His whole body splayed into a mess of supports and piping and he felt much like a bug in a spider’s web as he tugged his protesting limbs free.

 

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Gordon griped, glaring at the now dangling tube, dripping some kind of foul fluid from its ragged edges. Clambering free, his good arm hauled the rest of him onto a semi intact walkway. It creaked, but stayed solid as he just lay there for a moment. He waited for the hot throbbing in all his limbs to cool into the metal, enjoying its sensation against the suit. As the ache subsided, Gordon pushed himself up onto his feet. Glancing across, the walkway meandered its way around several thick tubes before steps lead mercifully down to the floor. Gordon began to walk, listening to the sounds of tired metal as it bent under him. Tucking himself to the side, he crept along, hand trailing along the pipework. If the bridge failed, he needed a quick anchor.  To his utmost relief, the bridge held with only a slight sway to betray its instability. The steps however were another matter with half of them non-existent anymore. Gordon simply wrapped his limbs around one of the pipes and slid down to the ground, with a soft thud as his feet finally met solid stone ground.

 

The expanse of industry was immense to the point that Gordon could hardly believe that it all resided inside solid rock. It was like stepping into thunderbird 2’s hanger, but instead of the green curves of the machine with the pods tucked away ready for selection, a leviathan of industry loomed up in the darkness made all the more unnerving when the only light source was his torch. Stepping over to one of the tanks, it was clear from the puddles of black liquid oozing from under it that this place had not functioned in a very long time. The technology itself looked old. Maybe that was why it had been left. Gordon brushed a hand over a support rail, it was too old to be worth much.

 

Stepping up to the side of the observation building with the doorway, he peered up, realizing there had once been a set of stairs leading up to the entryway, long since demolished by time and a rather large boulder sitting atop the wreckage. Maybe that was a blessing. Climbing something so unstable could have done more damage than he cared to imagine.

 

Still… “This is gonna suck.”

 

Gordon placed his flashlight back in his belt, retrieving the grapple once more. Aiming above the door, he found an exposed support beam; more damage from the falling rocks. It was barely visible in his helmet's light, but as the hook latched solidly to the metal, he let out a breath of relief, short lived though it was.

 

Attaching the grapple to his belt, the aquanaut wrapped his left arm around the cable, hugging it to his chest. Leaping as high as he could, the other hand took hold of the rope, his gloves securing his grip. One foot came up, stepping into the loose cable and pushing against it.

 

“So far- so good.” The next bit was an awkward shimmy as he tried to get high enough to wrap his foot around the line, the other pressing it in place so that all his weight could rest on them and off his arm. The next part wouldn't be ideal and expended way more energy than he wanted, but there was no other option. His feet released the line, the weight back on his arm, stressing the abused ribs. The feet reconnected farther up, pinning the rope between them before Gordon pushed upwards.

 

He repeated this move, working his way towards the door. By the time he made it to the entrance, his arm had started to tremble with the exertion. The gloves held tight as he swung inside, falling to his knees to fight the gravity threatening to pull him backwards.

 

Breathing deeply, Gordon pivoted away from the opening and just sat. “New workout for everyone. Absolutely.” He laughed, trying to picture his brothers inchworming their way up the climbing rope in the training room. It was a calming thought… quickly interrupted by the decrepit room he now occupied. Pulling out his flashlight, he swept it over the dark space. Empty office chairs, pushed away from work stations as though everyone had left in a hurry, were the only signs of human existence in the facility. The rest of the room was filled with computer automated assembly units, long dead with mechanical limbs laying loosely across conveyor belts and dangling from the ceiling. The fact of how ancient everything was struck him even more ardently than when he had been surrounded by the machinery. Cobwebs stuck to the arms, collecting dust and bugs that happened upon the vacant trap. A layer of grime covered everything in the room, he realized after noticing the smudges over his hands and legs. Everything he could see was at a level that predated anything he knew today. It even had computer units with colored LEDs set into them. Whatever happened to this place, it was a husk now. No doubt, he'd be out of luck finding a compatible power source for the radios.

 

Gordon stood, stepping up to the closest workstation and noting the papers that lay across the top, discolored by moisture and dust. He turned a small stack over, sending a few small critters scattering for a new hiding place.

 

“Pretty sure you guys are safe.” He smiled at one of the bugs as it stopped, antennae twitching before it scurried off to join its family. Turning his attention back to the page, he flipped it over, smiling wryly as he wondered how old this place was to still be using paper. As old as Parker probably. The print, a simple memo, gave little clue to where he was, but explained why it was abandoned.

 

[To all: Shut down is effective immediately, the facility will no longer be operational. Report to your staff lead for your new assignments.]

 

What could shut down an entire factory? An entire factory that would have been massively expensive just to build inside a cliff.  Although a valid question, he knew it wasn't important at the moment. He'd rested enough.

 

Gordon swept the beam of light across the walls, searching for the required document. He needed a map to help guide him to the upper level. No point wandering around a potentially unstable death trap if he could help it.

 

A flash sent a relieved smile across his face as the light hit the glass protecting the parchment he needed. He was forced to navigate through a maze of chairs and desks, but he was rewarded with a rather complex, if coffee stained, blueprint. Dotted lines and arrows guided any occupants to the nearest exits in case of an emergency.

 

Removing it was simple enough, his laser cutter almost overkill as the frame melted away. Shattering glass echoed around the empty room, Gordon wincing against the sudden noise.

 

“Man, this place is creepy.” He shivered, relenting to the childish fears of the dark for only a moment.

 

Once the quiet settled back in, the aquanaut pulled the stiff map from it's mount. The large room was made obvious with the large red dot indicating his current location. There were two rooms, smaller in comparison, on the north and east walls. A branching hallway on the other wall, most likely offices or small storage.

 

The radio hissed.

 

Gordon remembered John telling him about how the brain would take random sounds and try to make some sense out of them, if only to file them away. He knew that the eerie sounds crackling over his radio were just that. His brain trying to sort it out.

 

_“I….. I see….. ou.”_

 

“I see you too.” Gordon’s hair stood on end, but the joke fell from his lips with ease, something he was very grateful for even if the sound of it trembled with the growing anxiety.

 

His fingers itched, the urge to shut it off was suddenly overwhelming, but he wasn't about to potentially be cut off if, by some miracle, Thunderbird 2 made contact. Maybe it was just a boost to his overactive imagination from the nightmarish atmosphere. That could explain the increase in his heart rate as the creek of old metal echoed in the distance.

 

“It's just a creepy, old, factory. Nothing to be afraid of…” He rolled his eyes. “Except, you know, falling through the floor, ceiling collapsing on my head… the normal stuff.”

 

Part of him half expected the Hood to make a big reveal, goons at the ready with the not so surprising information that this was his hideout and now he would have to capture Gordon to keep that secret. Given the pattern that the past few years had fallen into, it had become logical to expect that the Hood was behind everything that was vaguely creepy. However, too much about this place was official even down to the paper memos. Gordon traced a route that would let him cover the majority of the building in search of a good exit and maybe even a power source for the radio. With any luck, the Hood wouldn’t be ready, like the villain he was, to pounce.

 

The radio quieted, Gordon considering the possibility that it was actually his brother cutting in and out. That could be a good sign. He still needed to find the communications room, though.

 

Thinking back to the view outside the building, he knew the room he needed would be on the third floor. Stairs would be his best option from here. He just hoped they were in better condition than the last set he'd come across.

 

Gordon found the section on the map labeled ‘Stairs 14b’, located at the end of the long hallway. He was closest to that side, making the trip farther into the factory much less exploratory. He wasn't sure he wanted a better idea of what they had been working on.

 

Dull footfalls bounced off the walls, giving him the impression of being followed. It was stupid, he knew, but he stopped, straining to hear any other movement but his own.

 

Nothing.

 

Another thought hit him as he continued on, remembering the whole reason he was out here. Someone was in trouble . Maybe they had stumbled into this place too? It had been nearly two hours since the call had come in. They could have wandered deeper into the cave and found the factory, venturing inside to possibly find another way out. If that was the case, keeping an extra ear open wouldn't be a bad idea.

 

Gordon had whittled his pain down to a soft ache by the time he had made it inside the hallway, but as he opened the door and stepped inside, he was fairly certain he was going to start hurting again. Yes, the rooms had been offices, but now, every piece of equipment lay in his path. Filing cabinets, chairs, and desks, all stacked or pushed together to form a type of maze. Navigating it wouldn't be fun.

 

“Who does this?” Gordon groused, kicking a couple of rolling chairs aside. He shimmied on top of a desk, sliding over it to reach another set of chairs. File cabinets either lay on their side or stood with their drawers wide open, files strewn about like confetti. A couple of the cabinets had toppled together, effectively blocking the path, unless he felt like crawling through the hole they created at their base. Gordon wasn't thrilled with that idea, instead, opting to push them back into a standing position.

 

He froze.

 

Scattered across the floor were papers, dotted and discolored by a dried, dark brown substance. Nothing came to mind that could create that specific color… except blood. And not just a little, this was a bucket load, spilled across the floor and traveling under the next desk he would have to climb. Someone would have had to lose a limb, or be left to bleed out here. Not a great image, but whatever had happened, there was no body to fill in the answers.

 

Gordon forced his eyes away from the stains and back towards the end of the hall. Everything now took on a more sinister design.

 

The desk, almost purposefully placed to block his path, was visibly  broken. The top was at an odd tilt, a large crack running through it as though something heavy had been dropped on it. Going over it would be easier, but that could mean breaking what was left of the wooden top. He also didn't have much room to push it out of the way either. His best angle on it would be…

 

“This place officially sucks.” The aquanaut carefully stepped over the puddle of dried blood before siding up to the desk. It scrapped loudly over the grey floor, moving only a few feet before coming to rest against another storage cabinet. He now had a space about half a foot wide to squeeze through. He'd also uncovered the source of the blood.

 

An arm, in the late stages of decay, muscle and flesh melting away from the splintered bone. Gordon just stared, the light from his helmet glistening off the disintegrating material. But it wasn't the appendage that had him so shocked. He'd already considered the possibility. What sent a chill up his spine was how fresh it was. It had been recent… someone had been down here in the last month or so and lost their arm.

 

“The hell…” That itch was back, driving his mind towards the childish flight response. Something was here. Something in the dark, waiting to drag him to his doom. “Stop, stop, not helping!” He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head of the useless thoughts.

 

He had watched enough of Kayo's horror collection to imagine what could be lurking out in the darkness, waiting, watching for him to drop his guard before deciding to pounce. Enough of Buddy and Ellie too. Monsters lived in the places we least expect, buddy often said; even if we think we're all alone never turn your back.

 

Gordon felt his paranoia beginning to spiral. He forced it back down, crouching to examine the arm itself and being distinctly glad of his helmet recycler unit. The smell was not something he wanted to have lingering in his mind while trapped in the darkness. He could remember it however. An odor that grabs the back of the throat, refusing to move to even the strongest coffee. Grandma's cooking was practically fragrant in comparison.

 

The bone on closer inspection had clearly suffered. Jagged splinters stuck upright with some oddly blunted or bent. It was bizarre. Gordon had seen similar wounds before when doors or blunt objects had landed with enough force to sever the limb. Naturally, the cause was usually close by, but here, nothing; no automatic door or sheet metal lodged into the ground as the culprit. It was just an arm under a some office furniture. Glancing back at the broken desk, it's great crack down the centre, Gordon considered the possibilities. Maybe something had landed taking the arm off on the desk, although, he couldn't see any blood, not a single dark patch of crust. If it had been there, the desk would have been soaked.

 

And even if it was, where was the rest? The unfortunate who had lost their arm was nowhere to be found. There wasn't a clue as to what really happened, a situation that mirrored the gory video games Alan had stocked his cupboards with; random body parts to simply make something scary. Gordon had laughed at how unrealistic it was. He wasn't laughing now.

 

The radio clicked. Someone was trying to reach him, but the signal was scattering into nothing but vague sounds again. He turned it down. It was too loud, it drowned out the potential warnings around him.

 

He needed to move, find a place where the signal wasn't as hampered, and maybe, though he wasn't looking forward to the prospect, find out what happened to the limbs owner.

 

Climbing back over the furniture Gordon made his way back into the hallway. Unease bit at him and he was more sure than ever that he had walked into something that should never have been disturbed at all. Instinct told him you should never follow paths made by blood puddles, but it seemed, in this case, he had very little choice. The urge to find a working radio or at least something capable of transmission became utterly paramount.

 

He finally came to the stairs, one set leading up, towards the second floor. The other set lead down… along with a smear of deep brown. He couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not, but it shed some light into where the owner of the arm had gone. Storing that information away, he went for the way up. Communication first, search and retrieve second. With lots more people. And lights. Everywhere.

 

Gordon took each step with soft footfalls, heart in his throat as he used the flashlight to illuminate the areas above. Paranoid or not, he felt a little better knowing what he was coming up to. The next level was simply a landing, empty as it lead to another flight up. The light swept over the space above, shining off a light fixture that hung haphazardly from the ceiling.

 

“Please be just around the corner.” He whispered, reaching the top landing, light streaming over the hall in front of him. It was clear of debris, but lined with doors. He'd need to check the ones towards the end, closest to the corner he had seen the radio antennae.

 

Another hall branched from his left, offering more stairs to climb higher. A double doorway lay at the end, the glass windows dark from the shadowed room beyond. The light followed the wall back towards him, stopping short at a frame, all too familiar. Eagerly, Gordon stepped up to it, pleased he didn't have to work as hard to retrieve the second floor map. The glass was shattered. With a few swipes of his gloved hand, the rest of the pieces came away, the aquanaut carefully laying them on the ground before pulling out the paper.

 

“Communications! Yes!” He grinned in his quiet celebration, tracing the path he would take to get to his destination. As he had suspected, the room was at the end of the first hall. He folded the paper and placed it with the other in his belt, raising the flashlight again and turning the corner.

 

He came to a dead stop.

 

And his mind screamed.

 

_Run Run Go! Now!_

 

But he couldn't. The light stayed frozen on the stationary figure halfway down the hall. In a flash, Gordon saw the size - tall and broad, _bigger than me_ -, saw the makeshift machete in one hand, a length of chain in the other… and a face… two faces... sewn together down the middle and laying atop another face hidden behind the mask.

 

It took a step, suddenly free from its suspension.

 

_RUN!_

 

He did. Gordon turned, bolting for the double doors at the end of the hall. _Pleasebeopen!_ Heavy boots slammed the floor behind him, the aquanaut acutely aware of the person's intent even without questioning him. _Gonna kill me and wear my face!_

 

His right shoulder connected with the doors, the hinges silent as they flew open. He didn't stop to inspect his new surroundings, but knew they wouldn't help provide a safe hiding place fast enough. What he needed was a door. He dodged a table, swinging around it. A loud, metallic bang filled the air as something slammed into the table barely missing him. He didn't glance back, listening to the sound of the chain falling away.

 

Gordon didn't stop running not even when the heavy footfalls had long since died away behind him. He flew through door after door, taking random turns, not caring were he ended up just as long as that thing was long gone behind.

 

Another door burst open as he ran through, this time leading to a small observatory. He couldn't see what it overlooked, not daring the stop and find out. Frantically, he looked for anywhere else he could go and found two options. A small door lead to what he suspected was a catwalk to view the work below. The other door was set in the wall to his left, similar to the one he'd just come through.

 

Left. Gordon made for the door, not trusting the old, metal bridges. He grabbed the handle and turned. For a split second, he thought someone was pulling him back, but then the pain of the door slamming into him registered. He fell to the ground, crying out as his right arm took much of the impact. _Get up!_ His mind was screaming even as he tried to understand how it had cut him off. _He knows this place! Go!_

 

He was scrambling across the floor as the boots sounded through the room. _Too slow! Get up!_

 

Gordon made it to his feet, eyes set on the door he'd come through. If he could get back to the other halls, maybe he could lose him in the maze of desks and filing cabinets.

 

Something smacked against the side of his helmet, the dark object wrapping around the glass shield in one fluid motion. He didn't have time to react as he was yanked harshly backwards by the chain. He was being pulled, drug over the dust-laden floor by a potential murderer. Images of the blood stained floor and stairs crawled into his mind; the arm, abandoned to decay under a broken desk.

 

The decision was a split second one, the clips for his helmet disengaging and he slipped free, the yellow regulator tearing away under the force.

 

The startled growl from behind him only served to spur him back to his feet, grabbing the fallen flashlight, before racing through the doorway. His lungs burned with the acrid smell of chemicals, mingling together to make his head spin. He couldn't afford to think about the air quality at the moment, the heavy boots falling in behind him, farther back this time. He took the steps back down two at a time, nearly falling as he rounded the first landing.

 

The maze was easier to navigate with the changes he had made earlier, and as he made it to the righted filing cabinets, he took a moment to push one over, blocking the path. Hopefully it would slow his pursuer down enough.

 

Gordon was wheezing when he made it to the larger room, scanning the area for any sign of the man. The crash in the hall behind him told the aquanaut all he needed to know. Sprinting across the room, he made it through the doorway on the East.

 

Gordon needed to get higher. He needed a defensible place that benefited him and not the guy whose footsteps were becoming steadily louder with each passing moment he lingered in one spot. He could try to outrun him, wear this creep down with staying just a few steps ahead. Gordon dismissed that as soon as his ribs whined in protest as he vaulted a fallen stack of pallets. His throat rasped as the bruised flesh throbbed against the glupping breaths. He was running on adrenaline alone. That wouldn’t last. This guy knew it too.

 

Glancing up as he ran, the shadows of long girders wreathed in chains loomed across the ceiling. He needed to get up there… and fast. With any luck, his smaller frame wouldn’t stress the ancient metal too much, giving him at least some time to come up with something a little less desperate. It might even solve his radio problem.

 

Gordon tracked the route with his eye, stopping by the most intact set of stairs. Rust covered everything. The smell of it was pungent even from just this set of stairs. Footsteps echoed louder. Gordon jumped gingerly onto the steps hoping beyond hope that they stayed together, at least for him.Those metal bridges were his only hope. If the man chasing him was smart, he'd back off, not really wanting to risk a bone crushing fall into the black concrete. The metal gave a whine, clearly not used to dealing with the shifting weight of a person anymore. It held though. Gordon fled upwards darting from join to join trying to keep his weight from the fragile inner sections. A grid collapsed behind him, opening a hole just seconds after it had held him. Giddy relief flooded through him, spurring him forward. It would buy him time.

 

He kept going, leaping between the gaps and vaulting onto the railings if the walkway proved too dangerous or non existent. He was playing with fire. The person hadn’t stopped chasing him, but was keeping to the lower level, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Gordon wasn’t going to let it and he could only go higher. Maybe once he was out of the way, he could reason with the prowling pursuer below him. Maybe he was just in need of rescue and Gordon simply had to talk his way through to him with a calm voice and reasoned words. It had worked before. He had to hope it would work again.

 

He slowed to a stop looking at the pursuer who gazed up at him, eyes hidden in the pools of darkness cast by the mask. Gordon swallowed. His grip shook, rust drawing angry scratches into his gloves. Time seemed to stop. Nothing moved. Everything simply stopped, hanging in the last moment. Even the frantic breaths pounding in Gordon’s chest seemed to stop. Both just stared at each other, unmoving. Dust hung around them, kicked up by the frantic movement. A taste bloomed on the back of Gordon’s throat, spreaded with a dryness he couldn’t explain.

 

Suddenly, time resumed and he raced down the bridge. Chains hung like macabre decorations over an array of machines that wreathed the majority of what had seemed to be a storage area, but was now more like the production floor of a factory. Great vats loomed beside him with eerie, scratched symbols. Chemical hazards and the chill-inducing biohazard that were emblazoned on their sides stood by the bridges like silent sentinels, blind to the horrors happening around them.

 

Where was he?

 

Gordon filed the thought away, focusing in on a cross beam above him just a little way from the bridge. A small dark nook had taken his attention and offered at least a respite from whoever it was that was chasing him. Climbing onto the railing with a shaking breath, flashlight wedged into his belt, he leapt from the bridge. His heart jumped into his mouth as the chain nearly slipped away from his left hand. Wrapping his legs around it, he began to climb upwards, mimicking his earlier ascent from the lower levels of the cave. The urge to look down was almost unbearable even knowing exactly what he would see. As his fingers reached the final links of the chain, with a final breath, he pulled himself bodily onto the beam, releasing a sob of pain and relief. Only a fine film of dust had gathered from the lack of activity, the beam broad enough to be stood on fully. He had made it.

 

Gordon allowed himself a moment to calm his racing heart, a prominent wheeze passing through his lips as he breathed. The reality of his situation was quickly sinking in. He had somehow uncovered the lair of a madman, determined to hunt him down. It was like living a horror movie, but with the added torment of chemical warfare on his lungs. There was no telling what he was being exposed to. As he thought longer about his situation, the more he found himself shaking, peering down over the edge of the beam. His light, held tightly in his hand, swept over the area below, finding the room void of his pursuer.

 

And then a miracle.

 

_“-don? Do you -opy?”_

 

Gordon's finger jabbed at the iR icon embedded in the yellow material. His throat was suddenly dry, the metallic taste of whatever floated through the air making it difficult to talk.

 

“Virg!” It came out a harsh whisper. “I'm here! Where are you?”

 

“Thank God! Gordon, you have to quit scaring me like that.” The relief was apparent, but he still hadn't answered the question.

 

“Where are you, Virgil?” It was the best imitation of Scott he could pull off while dealing with an increasing tremble through his chest.

 

The medic seemed to take the hint. “Had to use the mole pod to dig down to your location. Found the old factory. It shouldn't take me long to get to your location.”

 

“No no no, Virgil, you need to run! Get back up to Thunderbird 2 and call for help.” There was no hiding the desperation and fear just knowing that Virgil could be in harm's way.

 

It didn't help that he was dealing with the brother who asked questions first, determined to analyze the problem before following the solution. It didn't matter that Gordon was letting the desperation leak into his commands.

 

“Gordon, I need to find you first. Are you hurt?” Virgil sounded confused, but determined to do his job.

 

“There's no time for that!! Get back to the surface and get help. Full hazmat suits and stun weapons.”

 

It was what was needed, but as soon as Gordon had said it, he regretted it.

 

“Gordon where are you? I'm coming for you-”

 

“No! Get out Virgil, please! There's someone else in here!” There was a painfully long silence, the connection was still open.”I'm safe, hiding. Just get out, contact the GDF.”

 

“Alright, I'll head back up.” The medic didn't sound happy about it, but Gordon didn't care. He wanted his brother out and safe. “I've had to boost the comm signal, but it still won't reach th- whoa!”

 

A loud crack sounded through the radio. The sound of metal creaking mingled with the impact, static, and Virgil crying out sharply before it dropped completely silent.

 

“Virgil?” Gordon frantically started scanning the area below once more, trying to find any sign of the masked man. It was empty.

 

“Ugh ow, what?” His brother sounded somewhat dazed, alarms blaring in Gordon's head.

 

“What happened?” He was already working his way off the beam and onto the chain. Every ounce of logic was screaming at him to stay put, but it was drowned by the roar of impulsive panic sounding in his chest.

 

“Caught in some kind of snare. I'm okay, just knocked my head. Helmet took most of it.”

 

“Can you get out of it?” He pauses in his effort, listening to Virgil's movements.

 

“I should if I can-” He'd stopped moving. “What the… Gordon?”

 

“Yeah?” The aquanaut wanted to jump through the radio, fighting the urge to just drop.

 

“That's not you, is it?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. The tremor the lined his brother's word spurred Gordon's fears into overdrive.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. “Virgil! Get out! Go!”

 

“Can't find the mechanism!... Gordon. Gordon for the love of anything, please…. Tell me this is a joke- No! Get off! No, please!”

 

An audible click sounded and the radio dimmed. Virgil's helmet, along with his radio had been taken off. Gordon nearly screamed in panic, swinging to another chain. His right hand had gone numb hanging useless at his side. He needed to get to Virgil. If he didn't… he didn't want to think about what could happen.

 

“Virgil!!” Gordon strained to hear what was happening, but only received silence. His eyes locked onto the edge of the catwalk a few feet away now. Kicking out, he slowly began to swing, gaining momentum before releasing his grip on the chain. For a brief second, there was nothing around him but the putrid air and darkness. And then pain as he landed against the railing, his ribs angry from the abuse. He didn't stop, pulling himself over the edge and onto the fragile bridge.

 

Even as he started back towards the stairs, Gordon's mind was racing. He didn't know where his brother was when he'd called and he couldn't just run through this place in a desperate search. His mind flooded with useless images of his brother being dragged, bound and gagged unable to even cry out or use his radio, left purely at the mercy of someone who no longer seemed human at all. He had never heard virgil sound so scared. It rocked everything in him to its core.

 

Gordon sped over the walkway bridge, feeling the grills buckle and crumble with each step. Metal exploded into dust on impact with the floor. He had to keep going.

 

He reached the base of the stairs nearly colliding with the wall. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair as he tried to clear away the images. They wouldn't help him find Virgil. Letting out a shaky breath, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out where his pursuer might take his victim.

 

Immediately, the flash of dried blood filled his mind. A trail from the past that might help guide him to Virgil. It was something he could latch onto, because he couldn't consider the option that his brother was already dead. It was just unthinkable.

 

Determination wormed its way past the fear and pain, helping him push off the wall. He had his destination.

 

There was no sign of the man as he made it into his initial room, nerves on edge as Gordon searched the shadows for movement. More than once, he'd choked back a gasp as something fell, disturbed by the gentle vibrations of his footfalls. He was trembling uncontrollably when he entered the cluttered hall.

 

Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it - too preoccupied with the terrifying task at hand - but his mind was fogging with the desire to run and hide. Everything in his reactions had been wrong somehow, but there was nothing presented that he could put his finger on as the cause. He was routinely hunted by the hood and his minions with as much ferocity, but never had he given in to sheer panic before. It hung weirdly in his mouth.

 

 _Virgil. Gotta get to Virgil…_ The aquanaut repeated the mantra, willing the quakes in his body to stop. He had to focus. Focus through the fog and screaming fear that told him to run and run as far as he possibly could. Virgil needed to be rescued, that was Gordon's job. He would focus on being International Rescue.

 

The stairs, far more dark and foreboding than the first time he'd found them, loomed like the open maw of a blood-thirsty demon. The rotted, dusty remains of what had been carpet at one time, padded his footsteps as he descended downwards into an endless gloom. The chemical tang was still there, but its strength was fading slightly, replaced by a woolly numbness and dry mouth. His nose faintly burned, Gordon not wanting to consider what the chemicals were doing to his sinuses.

 

He gripped the banister as the stairs flattened into vertigo, the world spinning out of proportion and loosing any sense of cohesion. Gordon felt his stomach clench, rebelling against the dreadful sensation of falling forward into nothingness. Biting his arm, Gordon fought down the urge to retch, shutting his eyes against the madness and hoping that his moment of weakness wouldn't be the death of him.

 

_Virgil… Virgil… please be alive, please-_

 

His inner prayer was cut off by a strangled cry on the level below. His eyes flew open, the world returned to some measure of logic. The cries continued as Gordon crept down the stairs, keeping pressed against the wall. It took everything in him not to fly down the steps and burst into the room as the cries kept going, becoming more and more frantic.

 

“Please. Please just let me go… I'm not going to hurt you… please.”

 

Virgil's voice shook, sending waves through Gordon. He had never heard his big brother sound so terrified. There was no response from the man who had him at his mercy. No response to the pleas that seemed to gradually slur into each other, becoming indistinct. The medic's cries had softened eventually dying away, but other sounds had replaced them. The clink of chains, a tool being set down on a tray, the rustle of rope being tightened.

 

Gordon crept through the shadows nearly on all fours, dodging around the dim orange light that came from an open doorway.

 

“Please… Don't…”

 

Virgil's voice was so soft that Gordon strained to hear it from his hiding place under the stairwell. It was barely a whisper, barely coherent enough to make out, but Gordon could practically feel the pain in every word. There was another cry, this time strangled with a wet bubble that really didn't sound right at all. Whatever the man was doing to his brother, it had to stop. Gordon slithered into the dark shadows under the stairs, setting himself as far back as possible while still in view of the room that was laid out in front of him. It was something out of a horror movie.

 

The space itself was a storage room for small equipment, but what lay inside was now a nightmarish version of a butcher shop. The orange glow of a lantern illuminated the exposed beams in the ceiling, dark, rusted chains looping over them. Deep puddles of brown sludge covered the floor and he knew what it was even before the metallic tinge hit his nostrils. So much blood. Too much to belong to one person. He felt bile beginning to travel upwards at the sight and smell, but swallowed hard before letting out a shallow breath. Revealing himself now would completely rob him of any chance to rescue Virgil and, most likely, his blood would end up joining the puddles. However, as Gordon risked slipping further around to see, he noticed that a small portion of the room had been kept clean of blood, a threadbare matt bolted to the floor. A chain hung down from a thick bolt in the wall, but it's end was hidden by a figure crouching over a squirming victim in blue.

 

_Virgil._

 

Virgil was, for the moment,  partially concealed by the hunched figure, crouching over the medic's prone body. Only his legs were visible from Gordon's angle, but the International Rescue blues were unmistakable.

 

A sheet of metal lay beside the man looming over Virgil. Scattered over it was a torturers array of knifes and syringes with a few dark crusty bottles on their sides, clinking. Pale rope looped around Virgil's ankles, interweaving around his limbs to keep him from twisting free. His wrists had clearly been tied above him, secured to the chain. The chain's end had been wrapped around virgil's neck as a collar preventing any form of escape.

 

It was clear virgil was struggling albeit weakly as the ropes were being checked. None of it fazed the man looming over him, a knife gleaming out of the folds of fabric. Forest green equipment, everything Virgil habitually carried scattered about him haphazardly. The guy tugged at the sash still buckled around virgil, knife gleaming in the light as its rusting blade hacked through the straps. The sash clattered to the floor as it was casually tossed aside.

 

“You… you don't… have to do this.” Each word bubbled out, struggling over what sounded like sobbing, but so oddly slurred. The knife clattered down. A gloved hand ran over the side of virgil's thigh, tracing down with fingers stretched around its curve. Virgil's body went rigid at the touch. The other hand ran over his stomach, tracing the gentle curve of muscle now exposed with the sash cut away. Virgil bucked, trying to escape the manhandling, backing up against the firm wall. The strokes turned to pokes and pinches,

 

Gordon began to realise what the man was doing. Bile burned the back of his throat at the horror of what this room was, what his brother would suffer if he didn't do something to stop it. Virgil had seemed to realise it too, but choking sobs wracked his body leaving any protest unheard.

 

“Yes, yes... you're better. Thicker, much more meat. I like the meaty ones… last longer.” The rasped murmurs sent knives of terror through Gordon's stomach, his fears for his brother being confirmed. “More fat though. Need to soften the meat, make it tender. More flavor. ”

 

Breath caught in Gordon's chest as the looming figure straightened, gathering up the equipment around him with almost casual air.

 

 _Go away! Just go away! Leave him alone!_ He wanted to cry, wanted to run in and pull his brother away from the madman who wanted to… His hand shot to his mouth, stifling the sob of fear and despair. Biting into the blue fabric of his glove to stop the scream, Gordon curled into himself trying to pull his gaze away. The morbidity of it all kept tugging at him.

 

Gordon could hear the man rustling around with something out of sight... and finally saw Virgil. A sheen of moisture covered his face, mixing with the dirt that lined every inch of this hellscape. His head lolled to the side, blood trailing down the side of his neck, stemming from a spot of aggravated and puffy skin, red with infection. How could an infection set in so quickly? Gordon glanced at the syringes and bottles. There was no way they were clean. Virgil streamed with tears, eyes glassy with fear and pain and whatever the man had injected into him. The tears mingled with the sweat and blood, soaking his uniform.

 

The crinkling of cellophane wrapper was unmistakable as the figure returned. He'd eaten enough of Brains’ ration bars to know the sound. _The hell…_ The man straightened, now holding three of the packages. What was he doing?

 

“It needs to eat. I still have a fox to catch… Needs to eat. Three of these should do, for now.”

 

One wrapper tore open, crumpling to the floor. Virgil kicked to the side, bound hands twisting against the ropes, eyes widening as the figure loomed over him. The chain yanked up, pulling him upright. Thick fingers latched to Virgil's jaw, a pained cry escaping from the medic as they pinched inward, forcing his mouth open. Gordon could hear the strangled gags as the bar was shoved into his mouth, the hands forcefully covering it as soon as the bar disappeared, preventing Virgil from spitting back out. His brother shook violently as the bar choked him, robbing any breath, but the figure held his jaw shut watching his victim try to process what he had just been given.

 

“You'll soon be ready… It shouldn't take too long and there is plenty to feed you.”

 

Virgil somehow managed to swallow the bar, coughing as the chewy crumbs stuck the back of his throat. Gasps wracked him as the fingers released his jaw.

 

“Please…”

 

“Another.”

 

Virgil frantically shook his head backing against the wall, the chain clanking against concrete. The rustle of wrappers drove Virgil frantically to the side, trying to crawl away from the torturous feeding.

 

The chain quickly pulled taut.

 

“Please no, please no….” Fingers wound themselves into his hair tugging him back. Gordon was instantly reminded of how his grandfather used to handle the goats when they needed medicines. Virgil was just an animal to this guy, nothing more than a source of meat. He couldn't hear virgil's pleas or suffering at all.

 

The second bar disappeared, eliciting less of the harsh choking, but the pained look was still on his brother's face as he tried to chew the thick substance. Every ounce of Gordon was screaming at him to run inside to stop the torment, but he stayed motionless in his spot by the doors. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm coming, I promise! Please stop and go away!_

 

Something in the shadows moved. Gordon stopped. Breath stopped. Eyes glued on the motion to his side. Someone else was in there, in the room and was moving slowly towards him. He pushed back as far as he could. _Two of them!? Were there two of these monsters!?_

 

The movement became a pale shaking hand that steadily grew into an arm and then a pair of arms. A haunted face, shadows turning it into something nightmarish, appeared in the doorway. They twisted themselves around trying not to let the light from the orange lamps touch them. Gordon remembered the call.

 

The boat. Two men trapped. There had been survivors before they had stumbled into this hell hole, but no trace had been on the boat. His stomach churned uneasily.

 

 _That explains the fresh smell of blood... I'm so sorry._ Gordon's heart hammered with the new revelation.

 

The person scanned the darkness, looking for something. A weapon probably, Gordon instantly thought, _or us_ , looking for the heroic Thunderbirds that had promised to rescue them. He could do it. He could pull the person into the shadows and race into the blackness of the facility, not looking back. He would do what he came to do and fulfil the promise made.

 

Virgil's muffled cries echoed again as a third bar was forced into him. Gordon glanced up to his brother, desperately trying to chew without choking. The figure nodded with satisfaction as he saw virgil finally swallow the forced meal, groaning softly. The survivor cringed back, going still as he watched his captor move away into another room. Gordon saw his chance. It would be easy. But something stilled his hand. The plan left Virgil. It left him to a fate worse than death. That was an agonising thought. He has to choose between this person and his brother. Haunted eyes blinked rapidly, cringing at every noise, three shallow gashes on their chest still weeped fluid. Desperation rolled off them in waves.

 

Gordon made a decision.

 

Slowly, he began to creep forward, trying not to startle the terrified person. This had to be silent and quick, otherwise… Gordon motioned in the darkness, trying to grab the survivor's attention. Nothing changed. Dread gripped him, but he pushed his body further out into the light, motioning again. Nothing.

 

And then everything went sideways. Something clattered to the floor by Virgil and the person bolted. Gordon tried to reach out, catching wisps of cloth as they disappeared up the stairs. Terror threw him back into the shadows as Virgil's tormenter burst through the doorway, giving chase with rage-filled bootsteps.

 

 _No no no!_ The aquanaut scrambled to his feet, fighting the urge to run to his brother as he pulled himself up the stairs. Whoever they'd been sent to rescue still needed it, now more than ever.

 

His flashlight flickered over the hall lined with furniture, not seeing the two figures he was after. He sprinted up to the next level, catching the swing as a door at the end closed; the one that lead to the communication room.

 

Gordon realized he didn't have a plan even as he ran for the room. It was reckless, his mind still reeling from the substances in the air.

 

And then he froze, stomach plummeting while bille threatened to send him crashing to the floor. A scream, so guttural and pained echoed off the walls, ending in gurgled wetness and silence.

 

Gordon's hands shook, the tips of his fingers numb as he tried to breathe through the screaming that echoed in his mind. _Too late! Dead! Run, go!_

 

Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes from the doorway, willing the person to be fine, to step through the door like nothing had happened.

 

Boots - heavy on the cement floor - thudded through the darkness. Gordon ran.

 

Down the stairs and away, daggers stabbing into his gut with every inch he went from the person who had needed him. Needed to be rescued.

 

His face was wet when he ran into the storage room, crashing next to Virgil, who pulled away from him as his fingers touched the side of his head. Virgil's face was green and swollen with either tears or infection. Gordon couldn't tell. His stomach was distended horribly as the bars he'd been fed expanded. The pain must have been incredible. Brains had designed them to swell as they were digested to give the feeling of a full stomach. One bar was meant to last at least a few days. Virgil had been fed three.

 

“It's ok, it's okay, Virge!” Gordon whispered breathlessly, trying to reassure him of something that even he wasn't sure of. “It's me! Gotta get you out of here. Find somewhere to hide.”

 

The dark brown eyes finally gained enough focus to lock with Gordon's, the helpless plea crying out silently behind them. Virgil nodded, but said nothing. Gordon pulled his laser cutter, shakily removing the safety before holding it up towards the chains hanging over his brother's form. It took only a few seconds for the beam to sever the links.

 

Gordon threw Virgil's arm over his shoulders, pushing up with tired legs. The medic's weight fell on him, sending sharp aches through his damaged ribs and he inhaled sharply, desperate to keep them on their feet. Virgil very nearly collapsed back down, clutching his stomach, tremors running violently through his form. Gordon wrapped an arm around his chest, trying to keep him on his feet.

 

“No, no, Virg! Please, we have to get moving.” His terror was building again the longer they stayed in this room.

 

Virgil whimpered horribly, but pushed himself back up, shaking like a leaf. His head rolled onto Gordon's shoulder, breathing so shallowly it echoed around the room. Sweat soaked into Gordon's uniform and the heat of his skin was terrifyingly high. Gordon felt heartless moving him in this condition, but the boots continued to echo in his ears and he pressed on, half dragging Virgil to the doorway.

 

First priority was hiding Virgil in a place that this monster wouldn't suspect. He considered how little he actually knew of this labyrinthine place in comparison, reeling at the fact that it might not be possible.

 

The stairs must have been a mountain as each trembling step was taken. Gordon's reeling anxiety turned into frantic panic at the pace. “Virgil, I know this is hard, but we have to speed up. He could be back any moment.”

 

The medic barely acknowledged, eyes glazed looking at the stairs. The green had turned to ash grey. Gordon pulled him up the few steps, trying not to drop his much larger brother as balance failed to kick in. Stopping for a moment, Gordon scanned the area trying to listen for anything that might alert them to his approach. Nothing.

 

He remembered a filing room with its many toppled cabinets forming a cave. A vague direction formed in the fog of his panic. “Virgil, I'm going to hide you. It's not far.”

 

Gordon didn't wait for the response, half guiding, half dragging his brother down what he hoped was the right way. However, after a few turns and dragging themselves through several completely indistinguishable corridors it was clear that he had no idea where he was let alone finding somewhere safe for Virgil to hide.

 

The corridors gave so little reference as to the right direction. 26b, 34c, 11a. These meant nothing to Gordon, serving only to taunt him with the possibility that there was at some point a way around this place. It was now little more than wall decoration.

 

Darkness shrouded everything even as he flashed his light from side to side, obscuring anything he might have remembered. He kept going, dodging around the fallen cabinets and rotten sofas. Gordon kept straining his hearing into the darkness, jumping each time something echoed back to him. A thump could be a footstep, a creak an opening door, a whistle a distant scream. A thousand imagined horrors bloomed with each step.

 

His heart leapt. Another thump. Two. Something in the distance shrieked, gradually fading until their was once again deathly silent. The walls loomed around them, closing in, funnelling them into certain doom.

 

Gordon was shaking again, adrenaline coursing through him. They were being hunted. Stalked. They were being watched, toyed with. “I'm not sure where we are Virge… I...I don't know. I don't know!!”

 

Raw panic flooded him and he nearly dropped to the floor, the urge to scream burning his throat. Virgil's weight seemed to double, dragging him even further. With the little rationality he clung to, he knew it was whatever chemicals that filled this place tearing at him,  but it didn't make it any less terrifying. He needed to run. Virgil needed to be hidden, stashed away until Gordon could safely return.

 

And there it was, laying in the dark corner of the corridor, one of the cabinets edging it's way out the door. The relief was invigorating, giving him enough strength to stagger inside and toward the back of the room. The cabinets were a cluttered array of open doors and drawers, creating a maze across discarded paperwork. Gordon tried his best to leave the scene untouched, not wanting to leave any clues to his brother's whereabouts. The area that had come to mind remained just how he'd seen it on his initial search, long before this nightmare had started.

 

With straining muscles, Gordon lowered Virgil to the linoleum, turning him around in order for his back to go flush with the wall behind the cabinets. It was a tight squeeze, the medic limp as the blonde push him inside. Last, he tucked the booted legs in, propping them against the side of another cabinet.

 

“Stay here, okay? And quiet.” He reached into the shadowed space, cupping Virgil's cheek to help lift his head. Sluggish eyes blinked and that's all Gordon knew he would receive until they made it out. “Gonna get help. Stay safe. Love you, bro.”

 

The aquanaut stepped back to view his work, relieved that he couldn't see the blue suit in the dark. Virgil whimpered reaching back out as if trying to follow his brother or pull him back in. Gordon pushed him back smoothing away fallen strands of hair, damp with sweat. Fresh sobs wracked the medic's body with hiccups interspersing the gasps. Gordon lingered for a moment, running his cooler hand over virgil's brow. His stomach had swollen out as if he had swallowed a football, and Gordon knew that it was likely at its limits. Anything more might rupture it. Virgil had to sit this out.

 

“You have to stay here okay?” Virgil gave a sob, but relented, letting Gordon push him back into the corner.

 

“Just close your eyes and I'll be back with help.”

 

Virgil curled inward, but didn't respond as Gordon moved backwards out of the corner and into the corridor. There wasn't even a whimper as he sped off down the hall into the blackness. With any luck, Virgil would be undiscovered until Gordon returned.

 

He aimed for the chemical hanger. Direction was easier from that point, and it wasn't hard to know which way to go. The sour chemical taste burned stronger with each breath as he got closer. Everything else faded out now that he had a goal. He pulled door after door, smashing windows if he had to, care thrown to the wind as he followed the noxious scent to its source. He must have made such a noise that it wasn't long until he heard the _thud thud thud_ of the monster racing through the corridors searching for the source. _Good. Follow me. Far away from Virgil._

 

His heart hammered against his ribs, the pain spurring him on and feeding a form of black, lethal energy that had begun to replace the raw terror. Fear had given way to something much more terrifying. Nothing, but his plan mattered now. Nothing, but his survival. His hand snatched up a rubber tube from a lab, still set up with apparatuses, colored chemicals, murky with age, pooling at the bottom. It pulled taut, no signs of stress as he tested it. He retrieved his laser cutter, staring at its potentially lethal end for longer than he might have on any given day. Those days he wasn't being hunted. He didn't want to kill, but he wasn't going to be unarmed. That monster wasn't going to stop him.

 

Dragging his gaze from the gun, he found a pipe running along the wall. It was in two equal pieces within seconds, holes cut into one end of each. The memories of Kayo in the training room squeezed past the fog of his situation. He'd laughed when she produced the twin tubes connected with a short cord. Nunchucks had seemed so ridiculous, but he'd found the exercises quite therapeutic. Now, they could potentially save his and Virgil's life.

 

Gordon should have questioned this sudden drive for violence, but it was as if the sudden clarity was opaque. The need for freedom created a fire in his gut. It seared the back of his throat and he let out a breath that popped and clicked against the unseen damage in his trachea.

 

With his makeshift weapon in hand, he moved back to the entrance for the next section. The door swung open, revealing the large, vat-filled room…

 

_Whack!_

 

Gordon nearly fell forward as the lab door burst open behind him, the dark figure lumbering towards him with a look of pure rage under the blood-spattered mask. His eyes were pitch black.

 

“Where is it?! Vermin! Stole my meat!” Large hands clawed at him, but Gordon was already moving, running towards the slatted metal steps.

 

“You stole my brother!” Gordon snarled back, still running towards the what he hoped was the communications room, the window of it clearly seen from the other end of the factory floor. He surprised himself with the level of vehement hatred that had swelled up, blocking out everything else.

 

“I don't like people who hurt my brother or kill innocent people! You're nothing but a monster.”

 

He raced across the metal slats, leaping from side to side, barely noticing the shake as the man gave chase behind him, pulling up onto the walkway. Gordon scrambled onto a piece of machinery, picking his way across, barely cognizant of the sheer danger, and with the communications room in sight, he wasn't letting it slow him down. He lept the gap between a strange conveyor belt onto a platform connected to the catwalk, charging the door. It flew open, sending him into a roll and toppling a chair. This room seemed barely touched. Even the layer of dust was so even that it looked painted on. Except… his eyes fell to where he had landed, unable to turn away from the fresh red liquid. For some grotesque reason, he found it oddly alluring, his throat growing dry with the mingling taste of chemicals and iron. The light flickered over it a moment more before he shook his attention back to his current crisis.

 

Gordon jumped to his feet, tucking his nunchucks away and grabbed the nearest heavy object he could find: a table, littered with ancient equipment. With one hand, he flipped it to its side, watching it land at an awkward angle against the equipment lining the wall, the smaller pieces scattering across the floor. Another shove and it was securely wedged against the door.

 

Gordon stabbed at his communicator, his heart hammering as he paced the small room. It fizzed and crackled in protest, but he was having none of it. Keeping one eye on the door, ready for the monster to burst in any moment, he pulled at the wires of what looked to be a radio. He needed the antennae wiring to help boost his own signal, but the equipment was ancient. Snarling at the apparent incompatibility, gordon snagged open even more wires, the cables falling like guts at his feet. Pulling off the back of his communicator, he patched in the wires at random, hoping simply that it just worked and banging the radio body every so often. Boots thudded across metal.

 

“Work, damnnit!.”

 

“Language Gordon, please. But am I glad-.” John’s flickering blue image crackled to life turning to face him. His eyes widened, jaw dropping. He looked gordon up and down speechless.

 

Gordon glared at him, teeth bared. There was no time for this. “John, we need GDF, now! Tell them to look for the mole’s entry. I have a monster hunting me and Virgil needs a hospital, like yesterday!”

“Gordon…”

 

“No! Don’t Gordon me! Do it! And tell them full hazmat and stun batons.” It came out much harsher than intended, but he didn’t care. John visibly flinched, turning away to talk to someone.

 

Gordon raised his flashlight to see the creature grow closer, climbing the machinery to reach the communications room. It wouldn’t be long now. He pulled his laser and worked at the glass.

 

“EOS is working on it now... Gordon, you’re bleeding. You’re covered. And your eyes….” There was a definite waver in the astronaut's voices.

 

“Not mine.” Why was John so worried about blood that wasn’t his? Even his broken arm barely hurt anymore. He kicked the glass, shattering it in the monster’s face, who screamed as the tiny shards gashed open his mask, lodging themselves in deep. Beads of red welled up from were they hit, fuelling a building joy in Gordon. He could bleed.

 

“As I was saying, John. Help, now!” The rasp in his voice did little to cover his growing confidence. The monster was so much closer now. Shaking off the glass with pained grunts, pulling out the larger pieces with wet snicks that gushed more gore onto the bridge. Gordon pulled more furniture down, cabinets full of files crashed heavily, leaving gauges in the cement from their sheer weight.

 

“... It's on its way. Gordon.” The concern was still thick in his brother's usually calm voice, watching Gordon pull the place apart.

 

“I want to kill him for what he did to virgil.” The truth slipped out with the grunt of effort as another small table was added to the growing pile.

 

Turquoise eyes, wide with worry, kept following him as he worked “…Remember what Dad said... please.”

 

He stopped. Gordon’s whole self stopped at John’s words.

 

 _Never be cruel…_ His father's voice was as clear as day, ringing through the fog in his mind… _or cowardly._

 

 _Dad…_ Moisture pricked at his eyes. For a brief moment he was paralysed, caught between two instincts. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. The figure slammed into the frame with more force than anyone should possess. His hand clutched the laser cutter, the end aimed at the man. A human being. A human being that could bleed and felt pain. He could almost feel his father's presence behind him, hand on his shoulder. Long ago, Gordon had promised to help those in need. Even the Hood had fallen into that category, terrible though he was. He was about to break that promise if he didn't gain control of himself soon. The screaming fear and the black rage warred for dominance in an effort to break the paralysis.

 

Shaking, but lowering the gun, he stepped back, closer to the glow of his brother's hologram. “John -” He swallowed hard against the fear that was now back to the forefront of his mind. His voice fell to a whisper, not daring to let his pursuer hear. “I left Virgil… First floor, room full of storage cabinets. He's been drugged. Infection suspected, with a fever. Don't ask what he was drugged with, I don't know. “

 

“We'll find him, Gordon.” The aquanaut knew his brother would be true to his word. He couldn't shake the feeling that this might be the last time he talked to him, though.

 

Another thrashing to the door and the table jarred loose. He looked over his shoulder, finding the door that would lead back out into the hall. There were other rooms he could hide in, but that could put Virgil in danger. He couldn't have the man searching rooms, even if they were on the second floor. There was only one option.

 

Gordon's voice was softer, still plagued by the damaging chemicals mixed with the intense emotions. “Gonna lead him away from Virgil. Tell them to hurry, okay?”

 

“They are. Don't do anything reckless.” It was funny how fast John seemed to talk when he was truly stressed. Gordon would have offered a reassuring quip about how big brothers worry to much, but he couldn't. His heart ached to be out of this place and home, in the sun, surrounded by the family that loved him. He wanted out. Just out.

 

“Gordon, find a place to hole up. Scott and Alan are meeting Col. Casey there. Keep in contact if you can.”

 

That thought was reassuring for a brief moment, until he realized his brothers might head inside as well. “Don't let then do anything stupid. This place is booby trapped. It's how he got Virgil.”

 

The crash of splintering wood and buckling metal overtook any reply John might have had, his eyes wide as he tried to search his feed for any sign of what was after Gordon. The aquanaut shuffled back towards the other door, his plan on repeat as he pushed it open.

 

“Gordon?” John's frantic call made him hesitate, even as the figure began crawling over the debris.

 

“Gotta go, Johnny…” The door closed behind him,  the red-head's gaping expression burned into his mind when the masked man had stepped in front of the communicator. John had proof now, terrible though it was.

 

The whir of his gloves activating quieted as he scrambled up the wall, clamping his mouth shut as the door swung open. He narrowly tucked himself into the ceiling corner before the figure ran through. He was almost to the stairs when Gordon dropped.

 

“Hey-” A burning cough erupted from his throat at the harsh yell. He turned, the man's attention fully focused on the obnoxious blonde and Gordon ran; past John and through the opening in the door.

 

His immediate thought was the beam he'd hidden on earlier, but that was just avoidance. He needed to stay ahead of the man and keep his attention.

 

Gordon doubled back and scrambled onto the railing, jumping out to land on a piece of suspended machinery. He shimmied across the derelict equipment, finding another to latch onto. The aquanaut continued hopping from piece to piece before turning to look at the figure who, instead of chasing him directly, had descended to a lower path, attempting to flank him on the side.

 

“I stole him and only I know where he is. I will eat well in a few days and you won't.” Gordon teased, bile almost choking him as he spoke.

 

The man, mask now tatters from the glass, looked up at Gordon, body tense and shaking with rage. Gordon had realised that he would need to rile the man up, keep his ire focused on him. He stayed within range to see the man in the beam of his flashlight, but didn't dare get too close. He needed to keep the guy from losing interest. If he did, he would start to hunt Virgil. Gordon let himself dip into that black rage again, supping up the raw adrenaline it offered. He wasn't going to hurt the man, but maybe he could lead him into one of his own traps; netted and subdued without actually harming him. It was a plan. Somewhat. _Just don't get yourself caught..._

 

The man snarled, black eyes twinkling in the residual glow of the flashlifht. Gordon found a machine that had been lowered closer to one of the vats, making himself more tantalisingly within reach of the man.

 

“Yes, if you want to eat my brother you will have to catch me first.” _Eat him… he wants to fatten up and eat my brother…_ The determination was instant. No matter what he had promised, he couldn't let Virgil suffer that.

 

John had said no reckless behaviour. This certainly didn't count. It was a rescue and rescues always needed a little bit of daring.

 

Gordon vaulted back onto the bridge some distance from the man. A few metres away, a section had crumbled to nothing, leaving a wide gap that even Gordon wasn't confident he could jump. He stood for a moment catching his breath, watching the man run at an ever increasing pace down the bridge. Turning, the blonde raced up another set of steps, gaining height. Another high catwalk crossed over them, connecting to the lip to a vat with spiraling inspection platforms reaching over them.

 

 _If Brains were here, he would have a heart attack._ He heard a clang of metal crash to the floor farther away from him, their chase not doing the structure any favors. _Safety clearly wasn't the priority._

 

Wary of cutting off an escape route, Gordon ran to the end, dodging behind the first vat and watching the steps for the man to give chase. One second, two. No one. The room had gone quiet. Gordon began to panic. Had he outrun the man too well? He had tried to keep him in his line of sight, taunting him into pursuit. Gripping the tank side, Gordon glanced around the room trying to peer into the darkness. No movement. Suddenly, he became aware of the tank's heat through his glove, burning hot. He snatched it away, shaking out his fingers and taking a few steps back. Then, a crushing grip closed around his ankle.

 

Gordon screamed. Falling back as he tried to twist away, he saw black eyes and tattered skin crawling up from the bottom of the bridge, the man dragging him closer.

 

“I caught a fox.” He could hear the murderous glee in the man's voice.

 

The reaction was instant. A boot collided with the man's face, hitting out randomly in the desperate attempt to free himself. The grip loosened. Gordon scrambled up, arms now burning again with the fall.

 

The man had clawed himself onto the bridge, growling as the blood poured from a broken nose; Arms outstretched snatching the air as he stalked forward.  “Nowhere to run now. No little holes to hide in…”

 

Gordon's heels hit the steps leading to the inspection platform overlooking the vat. He backed up them, the man forcing him upward. The whole thing shook with their weight, the metal groaning as it tried to hold itself together. Gordon took one step, then another, each time praying that it would stay and not send him plummeting downwards. Heat grew and the acrid stench finally manifested into a steam that burned his nostrils.

 

Morbid curiosity made him glance over the edge, the light gleaming over the slowly churning sludge below. It hissed and bubbled, generating it's own radiant warmth. And, floating by the edge, a face, eyes wide and unseeing as the flesh around them slowly melted away. Gordon choked, air burning his lungs, his mind reeling. The light came back up and shook with the tremors running up his arm, finding the man's face. He wanted to scream past the pain in his lungs, stumbling back as he took in the mask… only, the mask was gone, revealing the matted beard, clumps of dark matter glistening in the beam. Black, rotting teeth grinned with manic hunger. Dark blood vessels webbed across the skin, leading up to the darkness encircling bloodshot eyes.

 

“Got you-” The figure lunged, hands grasping… and the platform buckled, twisting sideways with a jerk as it connected with the side of the vat. Both men slammed into the railing, the rusted metal snapping fiercely under their weight. The railing screamed as it tore away, buckling under them. Gordon nearly toppled, grasping the remains of the railing with the only hand that worked. Pain screamed through him, whiting his vision and sending blood roaring in his ears. He clung. He clung for dear life, praying that the metal would hold. A big hand fisted into his uniform, pulling him up, the grotesque grin widening as he was lifted back onto the fragile platform. Onyx eyes twinkled with dark triumph as Gordon felt the heat of the vat increase across his back. His toes brushed ground, unable to find purchase.

 

“Now… little fox...Tell me where my meat is.” He pulled the blonde closer to his face, the unkempt facial hair brushing against his cheek.

 

His back pressed against the railing, digging painfully into the bruises. Gordon shook for a moment, trying to push away and unable to speak. He could escape this. Betray Virgil. Run and never look back….run and run and run…

 

_Never be cruel or cowardly._

 

“Never.”

 

Gordon's feet connected with the man's stomach and he yanked the nunchucks from his belt. They wrapped around the railing, anchoring him as he flipped over the bar, the hand releasing him. His body slid between the bottom bars, relieving the weight on his tired arm.

 

He froze, watching the man arch to the left, lost to the momentum of Gordon's attack and the angle of the bridge. His feet slipped and the platform rocked again. A guttural cry escaped the man, joined by the crunch of snapping bones. Liquid began to dribble, splashing into the boiling mess below.

 

Gordon looked up. A pipe had erupted from the man's stomach, tearing through his clothing. Blood gushed down as the wet tearing of meat sounded over the grinding of exhausted metal.

 

The man's eyes looked stunned, all aggression and triumph suddenly draining away as he glanced down at the pipe impaling his torso. The guttural cry turned into a whimper, black fluid weeping down his face. He looked up at Gordon, still clinging to his nunchucks. Shock turned into tremors as he tugged at the pipe, pulling himself forward.

 

“Don't! We can help you! Please, stay still. Help is on its way. Please trust me.” Hot tears slid down his face mingling with the blood splatters.

 

Gordon watched him look down at the pipe with an expression that he couldn't place. It was almost a smile. “... Too late, little fox”

 

With a sick crunch of broken bone and meat grinding against metal, the man lurched forwards. Gordon curled into himself expecting the blow, clinging with what little strength he could muster onto the railing. Impact never came. The man flew over him and over the edge, splashing into the roiling liquids with a blood curdling shriek. He surfaced, the cries turning to agony until it was drowned into wet gurgling that died away into a hissing bubble. Gordon broke into quaking sobs that didn't stop even when his own breath burned away. What had he done? This wasn't what was supposed to happen!

 

 _I killed him… He's dead and it's my fault…_ The overwhelming burn of emotion swelled amongst the pain in his throat and lungs.

 

A shriek of metal shocked him from his mourning, the bridge juddering with the abuse. Gordon choked back a sob, pulling himself over the haphazardly leaning metal. His chest ached with every step, the fumes thick with cooking flesh. _My fault…_ His hand reached out, grabbing hold of the platform section that connected to the stairs. He crawled across, arm dragging behind him as metal creaked and bolts burst. The splash came before he felt the ground fall out from under him, crying out as he pulled himself towards the safe area beyond the vat. His legs kicked against the side, finding enough purchase to push himself up.  

 

For a long minute, Gordon lay at the base of the steps, coughing and wheezing through the tears that trailed through the dirt on his face. The thought of Virgil, still crammed in the tiny space behind the cabinets, was the only thing that encouraged him to his feet. He clung dangerously to the side rails, acutely aware of how easily they could snap, but unable to find the strength to walk on his own. The communication room seemed miles away as he took the first set of stairs that would lead to the upper levels of the observation rooms. The gaps had been worse. The blonde had been forced to shimmy out to the end of the broken walkway and leap the few feet of open air to the other side.

 

John was still there when he entered the room, his eyes locking onto Gordon as he toppled over the splintered table. He simply laid there, staring at the metal ceiling above, illuminated by the glow of the hologram.

 

“-don! Gordon! What happened?” John's voice was muffled under the incessant droning in his ears. “Are you alright?”

 

 _Not alright… not alright at all…_ He could only shake his head in response, his mouth trying to form the words his brother wanted.

 

“GDF is a minute out. Scott, Alan, and Kayo are already there.” That was a relief, at least. “Where's the man that was chasing you?”

 

Gordon looked at John, eyes glistening with tears. He barely had the strength to wipe them away. “I didn't mean to John… I promise I didn’t…”

 

John blanched instantly, taking in the meaning of Gordon’s stammering words. He tapped something to the side of him without looking away from his brother. His tone was soft when words finally came.

 

“Gordon this wasn't your fault. I know it's easy to say, but it isn't. Right now, the main thing is that you're safe.” Gordon rolled, the idea of Virgil, alone, still floating through the numbness in his mind. He pushed himself up, gripping the console panel for support. “No, no, stay with me Gordo… Stay on the line.”

 

Gordon's knees gave under him, intense exhaustion engulfing his entire body. He could no longer tell what hurt as his entire body throbbed with pain. John's image blurred, grey haze forming at the edges. A whine replaced the pounding heartbeat in his ears. John's eyes widened, Gordon's entire body falling to the side..

 

“Gotta get to Virgil… but I'm so tired…”

 

“I know, Gordo, I know, but please stay where you are and stay awake a little longer, just for me OK. Just for me…” The astronaut's voice was fading away again.

 

He barely had the energy to shake as his body curled into itself against the fallen chair, glass crunching under the side of his boots. He wanted Virgil; Virgil's warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him in against his broad chest and nuzzling into his blonde spikes. But Virgil was lost in the darkness and he had left him there. He shouldn't have left him alone in the darkness. What brother leaves another in the darkness? Sobbing began again, stemming from the new emotions. He felt so small.

 

“Gordon. Open your eyes.” Scott's voice floated through the exhaustion.

 

Gordon looked through the haze as the figure in blue came closer, hands cupping around his head and the rustle of fabric being guided around him. Blue eyes gazed down at him, worry-lines creased tightly. Something solid was pressed over his face, fresh, clean air filling his burning lungs. It tasted vaguely sweet.

 

“S'ott?” His voice came out a harsh gasp.

 

“Sh, don't try to move.” Scott's hand carded through his blonde hair, gently easing the tension from his aching body. “I've got you Fish, it's all over.”

 

Scott cradled him close, letting him hear his heart beat as if he needed proof of his existence. Gordon didn't think he could cry any more, but as the tears trailed from the corners of his eyes, he couldn't help the hand that lifted from under the insulated blanket. The brunette took it, squeezing gently.

“Virge-” He gasped past the oxygen

 

“Kayo is on the hunt as we speak… Col. Casey gave us the blueprints for this place when John briefed her. It shouldn't be long. But Gordo, let's focus on getting you safe.” Scott looked down at him, concern deepening the lines as Gordon hissed when he tried to adjust him. “Does anything hurt?”

 

Gordon laughed, but it came out more as a gurgle. What a question. He gave a slight nod at the flash of concern on his brother's face, following it up with a rasped “ev'rythin-”.

 

Scott shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. He shifted Gordon to lay flat on the ground, with something soft shifting under his neck. “Right, Iets get you stabilized. Alan's on his way with a stretcher. Just stay still and eyes open okay.”

 

For the first time as he was being slowly lowered to the ground, Gordon realized how much light was gleaming around him; a few poles holding the sources around the room. He could see more light outside the communication room's window, the sound of people - he suspected GDF officers clad in brilliant white hazmat suits - milling around the chemical-filled room. He let the sounds mingle with the throbbing pulse of his heart. Scott stayed at his side, a cool flash of blue amongst the grey and dust. The fingers in his hair continued to stroke away the traces of fear, replacing it with the need to be home with his family and out of this nightmare. Scott murmured something to a figure beside him just out of Gordon’s sight, but the warm hand never left or shifted from its rhythm.

 

A low hum and the soft tap of boots sounded in the hallway. “Good, Alan. Help me get him strapped and keep that blanket around him. He needs the warmth.”

 

The soft footsteps pulled Gordon's attention to the open doors, the flash of red across blue sending his heart into his throat. His baby brother didn't need to see him like this. The haze began to fade, replaced by a white fog that gave everything a soft halo. Alan's face was lost in the glowing mist with only the red shining through.

 

“Gordon…” His little brother's voice was filled with concern, but Gordon couldn't find the awareness to try and ease his worry. He was so tired. The fog washed over his vision and everything faded away as he slipped down, letting the sweet oxygen fill each breath.

 

When bloodshot, amber eyes opened again, he was out. Warm evening sun shone mercifully on his hands and face, drying away what moisture was left. Never had he been happier to feel the warmth of the sun on his face or even just to see its light, illuminating the world around him.

 

“Hey, Fish, nice to see you awake.” Scott's voice was soft in his ear, his touch light as a steady hand touched his shoulder. Gordon looked up at Scott, whose gentle, but clearly exhausted smile said everything he needed to know. Dirt and dust streaked his face, the relief clearly evident. A pair of boots came into Gordon's periphery, standing beside Scott with their owner gradually coming into view.

 

Kayo looked down at him, arms crossed over her chest, a mix of pride and composed calmness on her face. “I found Virgil not long after Scott radioed to tell me they found you. You hid him well Gordon… If it wasn't for the tracking device, I might not have.”

 

Gordon felt a peculiar stab of pride at kayo's words, but it was quickly muted when the memory of Virgil came into proper clarity. “Virgil… was he..”

 

Scott held up a hand before smoothing back stray strands that had fallen in front of his face, tension once again bled into the warm open palm. “He'll be fine. The GDF medic got to him in time. He still needs a hospital, but we've countered the drug and he's on fluids to fight the infection. His stomach's better, too. The medic said he'd eaten an excessive amount of food. Threw most of it up when they started moving him. He's resting, now” The brunette gestured to something on Gordon's other side.

 

The aquanaut turned slowly and he caught sight of a matted brush of black hair. His breath snagged in his throat as he stared at his brother's chest as it rose and fell. The tremor that ran through each exhale was unmistakable. If not for the slight movements, he would have looked like a…

 

A warm hand pressed to his chest. “Gordo, breathe. He's going to be okay.”

 

Scott's words sent a shuddering breath past his lips, but he didn't dare pull his gaze away. Gordon had felt certain he could have lost his brother in that cave. Virgil himself would have to prove their elder brother's sentiments.

 

Trembling fingers, reached out from the comfort of the blanket he hadn't realized was covering him and brushed Virgil's still hand. No one seemed to stop him as he took hold, gently squeezing the palm. The warmth of it was a comfort in and of itself, but then, the medic's fingers twitched and curled around his, weak, but aware of the reassurance needed.

 

Scott smoothed the blanket back into its position around Gordon, but said nothing, just sitting himself down next to the stretcher to look out across the vista.

 

“Alan's picking up Thunderbird 4.” The explanation of their youngest brother's absence wasn't necessary, but Gordon found it comforting. Nothing felt worse than being helpless around your little brother. For a moment, he could understand how Scott felt whenever a mission had gone wrong, having to rely on the rest of the family to pull him out of the fire. Suddenly, Thunderbird 1 looked far more vulnerable than he had ever realised.

 

Gordon glanced up at Scott who was still looking away from him over the horizon, breeze playing with his hair. “Tell him not to scratch it. Brains still hasn't forgiven me since the mechanic.”

 

Scott chuckled, eyes screwing together with a wide smile before looking back at Gordon with a little less exhaustion. “I think Alan knows better than to scratch your sub. He hasn't forgotten the ink in his face wash.”

 

“Nice to see that Mr. tracy is getting his humour back.” Col. Casey's voice broke the idyllic moment, announcing her presence from the side. Scott glanced up to meet her, nodding as she came into view, her own hazmat suit streaked with dirt and grime. Beside her, Penelope’s prim figure appeared, golden hair twisted back into a bun, away from her face. She knelt down beside Gordon, a smile of restrained relief tugging her lips as she examined him for herself. Scott moved away, allowing her the space to greet Gordon properly.

 

“How do you end up in these situations, Gordon.” Her hand graced the side of his face, a slight grown pulling the smile away. He hated to see her upset on his account. Her hand was cool and smooth,  unlike Scott’s warm callouses. She pressed the point at his temple, his head rocking into her palm to rest. The sense of relaxation was almost overwhelming. The smile returned as she watched him nuzzle her hand. “I trust you'll be alright?”

 

“Of course.” He tried to give her his best grin, not realizing he'd leaned into her touch as much as he had. “Getting better by the minute.”

 

“I’ll hear that from the doctor thank you, but I’ll believe the first answer.” The smile widened and he sighed, content to just be near her.

 

“I’ll certainly be more comfortable when you two are safely in the hospital, Mr. Tracy. Not to mention, when this entire site is shut down.” Colonel Casey’s voice was tinged with an anger that was definitely not directed at anyone present, but rather at the situation as a whole. Gordon followed Scott's line of sight, looking out at the groups of officers that were filing in and out of the entrance way, being sprayed with chemical disinfectant and bleach. The stench of it wafted on the sea breeze, mingling oddly with the salt.

 

Gordon decided that he prefered the bleach over the blood.

 

A question started to tickle at the back if his mind while he watched the officers. He didn't necessarily think the answer would make him feel better, it was just something he needed to know. “Why?”

 

“Why what, darling?” Penelope asked in her usual lilting tone that sent his head spinning.

 

Not today though. His mind was elsewhere. “Why did this happen?”

 

The colonel's answer was sharp. “Idiots.” She seemed to catch herself at the same moment. “My apologies. I was given a great deal of information on this place while you two were being rescued.” They nodded, waiting for her to continue. “The Myers Complex was a weapons factory back during the global conflict. It had been run in secret by a coalition of political leaders and military generals looking for a quick way of winning the war with supposedly the least loss of life; mass produced terror. A chemical weapon, created to target the flight or fight response, was found to be extremely effective, but after a major leak in one of the tanks, a few of the employees started showing _other_ reactions. The project was shut down by the governing bodies responsible, ensuring the facility would be kept a secret. This entire area was classified with the main entrances sealed. They were convinced that the drug could be fixed and wanted to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

 

“They covered it up?” Scott's voice was a growl, only present when someone he cared for could be in trouble. Gordon was still snagged on the _other reactions_. Had he experienced those? Was he still? If he hadn't been rescued, would he have become a violent cannibal, searching for his next victim? The thought coiled in his stomach.

 

Col. Casey nodded, continuing over the aquanaut's inner turmoil. “The war ended not long after they shut it down, but with the threat of underground rebellions, they still wanted to keep it intact. It’s why you couldn’t radio in or out. There was shielding placed around the facility that would disrupt anything that tried to scan or transmit out. The only thing that could bypass it was the facilities radio system.”

 

“Idiots.” Penelope's use of the colonel's earlier sentiment pulled him from the questions tearing at the edges of his frayed emotions. He looked at her pinched face, the one that let you know she was close to ending someone's career, and couldn't help but grin. Whatever those chemicals had done to him, there was no way his family would let him become a monster.

 

“Unfortunately, it appears that it was that shielding and the high level classification that caused the disappearances of several local people to go uninvestigated. With any luck, we should be able to trace the identities of some of the victims and return them to their families.” A solemn quiet fell over the group, no words needed to portrait the pain of finding so much life snuffed out by a handful of paranoid decisions.

 

The rumble of engines signalled the return of Thunderbird 2, the ‘Bird sounding almost grateful to be back with her pilot. Gordon squeezed his brother's hand again, happy to feel the pressure in return. He knew he would have to let go soon, the two of them off to the hospital for tests and more IVs than he cared to think about. For now, he would be content with the warm sun, the warm hand in his, and the cool press of light fingers running over his temple.

 

OoOoOoO

 

Gordon stared into the mirror. This was the first time he'd been allowed out of his hospital bed in the last twenty-four hours. Granted, most of that time had been spent sleeping after the fluids had been initiated, along with breathing treatments and antibiotics.

 

He'd needed to pee. Scott had agreed to let him up for that. Mercifully, his brother had let him go in private, but as the blonde had stepped up to the sink, he froze.

 

The face staring back at him was pale, skin puffy and blotched from the harsh chemicals he had endured. But the worst part… no one had mentioned it… Or had they? His memories were still fuzzy for some parts of his experience.

 

Dark grey ringed his eyes, like ash had been smeared over the skin of his lids and the swollen flesh between his eyes and cheeks. Black veins trailed out from the ashen skin, stark against the paleness. It bled even into the whites like little spider legs across their surface.

 

Gordon poked at it, gently watching it squish out around his finger. He stopped, muscles flooding with tension. Images flashed across his vision; a matted beard, rotting teeth… black eyes that screamed with hunger. He clenched his shut, the other hand joining to cover the sensitive area. The memories remained fresh; horrors still chasing him down far-off hallways.

 

A hand gently grabbed his shoulder and he nearly fell back into the hospital shower, heart hammering in his chest.

 

“Whoa, Gordo. What's wrong? Does something hurt? Do you need me to call the nurse?.” Alan's voice was gentle, as it had been since the rescue.

 

 _Nurse…_ He took in a deep breath in through his nose, blowing it out with a distinct wheeze _. Yes… smells like a hospital_ …

 

Alan's hand was back on his shoulder, a concerned frown on his face as Gordon let his hands drop. “Sorry.”

 

The younger blonde shook his head pulling his brother into a hug, chin resting on his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Please, don't beat yourself up over it.”

 

Gordon couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest. “I'll try not to. I just… I didn't know about my eyes.”

 

Alan let him out of the embrace, but kept the anchoring hand on his shoulder. “Oh, right! You were asleep when they came to talk to us about that. The doctors said the effects were only temporary, so don't worry, you'll be tanned and pretty again in no time” Alan gave him a smile that practically radiated.

 

Gordon couldn't help but smile back just a little bit, wrapping his good arm around Alan's back to return the hug.

 

A twinge of mischief sparked suddenly in Gordon's chest, widening the smile. “Halloween is coming up, maybe I don't want it to go back.”

 

“Gordon… it's May. Halloween's not for another five months.” The astronaut's brow quirked up. “You sure I don't need to call the nurse.”

 

“Oh, it's always halloween in my book! Never need an excuse to have some spooky fun.” He grinned at the genuine laugh from his little brother, content to block out the memories that were fading to the back of his mind.

 

“That explains why you dressed up like a mummy and hid in Scott's closet.” He could see Alan connecting the dots, grinning at the now obvious opportunities.

 

That was a great memory. Scott's shrill scream had been worth the involuntary punch to the face. Scott was such a fantastic target for pranks; so reactive.

 

“You two planning to stay in the bathroom for the rest of the day?” John's voice floated through the slightly open door.

 

“You're welcome to join the party.” Alan sniped back with a grin. They watched the door slowly swing open, revealing their red-headed brother.

 

“Can we get you something to drink?” Gordon held a hand out to the sink faucet.

 

Unfazed, John stepped inside and swept the aquanaut into a hug. So rare was it to receive physical contact with his space-dwelling brother, Gordon was left stunned, a goofy smile spreading across his face. Part of him understood. John had been there, seen who he was battling, and had been powerless to help. This was John making sure his little brother had really made it back from the nightmare he'd witnessed. The possessive protective streak showed through as his hand buried itself into Gordon hair pulling him even closer.

 

He never did get to return the embrace, however, John pulling away. As ever, affection was always on John's terms, never anyone else's. “Wouldn't mind some of Dad's good bourbon.” His voice was soft after clearing his throat.

 

Alan laughed. “I think we've got some mouthwash if you're desperate?”

 

“I'll pass.” John perched himself on a rail by the sink, arms folded, gazing away at nothing in particular. Gordon could see the knotted tension that clung to his entire body, unreleased. John would bury it as usual, after his one outburst of intensity, hiding it away from view so that life could continue. He shifted next to John, deciding he wasn't going to let John sink into his head alone. Not this time. “Hey, John… it wasn't your fault. Please don't think that it was.”

 

John's head snapped around to look at him, eyes measured, but with something desperate underneath. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words appeared. He just looked at Gordon who sidled closer, not breaking eye contact. Alan looked between the two and backed gracefully out of the bathroom leaving his elder siblings in relative privacy.

 

_The kid's learning._

 

John's eyes followed him out the door before dropping to the floor. The silence was thick. They both knew they needed to talk about what happened, but neither had a clue as of where to start. Gordon tapped his feet together, counting tiles and wondering why every hospital had that awful grey, glittery linoleum.

 

“They found his bones… In the investigation.” John started, his usual flat tone giving Gordon the news. “Burnt and acid eaten, but enough to begin a DNA analysis. Colonel Casey has asked for statements…”

 

“John, stop… Stop being Thunderbird 5-John for a moment.” The blonde tried to keep his own voice calm, unsure if it was working. “You look like you've barely slept and you're competing with me for dark circles.”

 

John's expression remained masked, but the edges frayed enough to show how much he had been affected by what he had seen. Shoulders bunched up to his ears and his usually tidy hair flopped into his face, hiding his eyes away from his brother. Gordon let his words sink in, guilt rearing its head a little. Those words had come out a bit harsh. True, in his mind at least, but too harsh, demanding something of John that he rarely ever gave.

John crept closer. Gordon felt their hands brush and John maintained the contact. Gordon let the moment hang, not wanting to push it too much. Both of them were not in any state to fight or appear to be attacking.

 

“I thought I lost you. I heard everything; the chase, the clattering… the screaming. You have no idea how relieved I was when I saw you crawl onto my screen.” He paused, seeming to consider his next words. “When you told me that he had…I didn’t…. I was both horrified and happy. You won. I celebrated someone’s death.”

 

Gordon watched John shrink into his denim jacket, his face now concealed behind a pressed lapel. The jacket had been Scott's, but John had shown an affinity for denim when he was younger, cuddling Mom’s jeans when upset. Scott had given him his favourite denim jacket to hide in whenever life just became too much.

 

Gordon watched John’s fingertips pull at the cuffs repeatedly. “....I hate gravity so much.”

 

As his shoulders shook, the astronaut let the weight of everything come crashing down, breaking the tight strings that were barely holding him together. Gordon knew better than to put an arm around him, so he let his fingers tighten, judging the pressure as the squeeze was returned. There was nothing he could say; he’d be lying if he said that the same thoughts hadn’t crossed his mind as he had lain on the stretcher - a gladness that a threat had been removed from the world and would no longer be a danger to anyone. No more corpses piling up in the vats to melt away, no more innocents being slaughtered to feed an insatiable appetite, no more drugs that turned minds into monsters. And yet, the memory of the man’s smile as the pipe erupted from his chest lingered behind his closed lids, its gentle curve, devoid of the snarling hunger of before, impossible to ignore. He could have been saved.

 

“John, the fact you were happy that I survived a threat to me is not a bad thing.” He gave another gentle squeeze. “That’s not celebrating someone’s death… that’s sheer relief that a threat is gone. Yeah, a human threat, but there was nothing anyone could have done at that moment.”

 

John viciously rubbed his face, flicking away the stray hair back into order. Redness rimmed his eyes with a few tears still lingering on his cheeks. The simmering anger was back, held in John’s all too well practised reserve, but close enough to the surface for gordon to see. He could understand it too. John had always held himself together when things got tough, been the brother that could put himself aside and focus on the priority in front of him. He cringed at the memory of his younger self calling John cold and unfeeling when really it was John’s calmness that he needed. Everything felt out of balance when the red-head was visibly upset. Even during his recovery from the hydrofoil accident, john had been an oasis of calm. Maybe, with everything that had happened from Gordon’s run-ins with the chaos crew, to having to watch both him and Alan fight monsters in a virtual world, it was all beginning to affect him. Gordon wondered if his brother had ever spoken to anyone about it. Probably not.

 

“I’m being selfish.” John's voice was trained with the emotions usually kept in check. “I’m upset over my own reactions and you are having to comfort me. That's not right. Why is it at this point I break?”

 

Gordon fought every impulse to pull his brother into a hug. “Because johnny, we’re human. I’m pretty sure having to watch a monster attack me and being helpless to do anything more than call Scott gives you the right to be upset. You saw what was chasing me, he even took a swipe at you, and as you said, you heard everything.”

 

John’s eyes slid to the side not totally convinced, but the anger had melted away back under the mask. The ripples were slowly returning to calm and,  while Gordon didn’t want John to hide away after this, the tension had bled out from his shoulders somewhat. They pushed themselves closer, the contact now doing the talking for them.

  
“I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for this.” His voice was soft.

“Nah, I’m sorry. I pushed you to talk and you did. It was good… You understand what happened in a way that I don’t think anyone but Virgil will get.” And that was the truth. And considering how little Virgil had remembered after waking up, John was someone he could at least talk to if the memories got to be too much.

 

John pulled away, head lifting to look at Gordon, a soft smile now appearing. He didn’t say anything, but that was John.

 

“Let's go back inside. I’d rather not have to explain to the nurses why the bathroom has been occupied for so long.” Although, this was the longest he'd been out of bed after the hectic emergency room and attentive doctors that had been more than willing to help the members of International Rescue. It still felt wrong getting preferential treatment. Right now, he was glad to take his time with the newfound freedom, even if it came with a visual shock and a brother having a difficult time dealing with his emotions. It felt good. Like returning from a nightmare into reality.

 

John laughed, short and soft, never one for deep belly shaking laughs like Virgil and Scott. It was a sound to break the tensions and a cue for Gordon to lead the way. He wobbled a little, still sore from the bumps and bruises, but a gentle hand on his shoulder helped steady him as they stepped back out to rejoin their family.

 

OoOoOoO

 

They all knew the news reports were coming and what to expect. International rescue’s role was unsurprisingly minimised with their only mention being the discovery of a ravine during an ocean rescue. It was true, after a fashion.

 

Gordon pulled the blanket further around him as he curled closer to Virgil, minding his tubes. John had perched at the end of the bed, wearing a pair of scrubs and a robe; a gift from a nurse who, after John had asked to stay the night with his brothers, had agreed as long as he kept comfortable. Gordon didn’t ask why John felt the need to stay, something that he was probably very grateful for.

 

The TV blared from the end of the bed, carefully curated images and flashy reporting mingling together into something that only barely resembled the truth. Virgil slipped a hand around Gordon’s shoulders as the image appeared on the screen.

 

They had all the answers, but it did nothing to deaden the blow when Gordon saw the man's picture, smiling next to the reporter. The man, Reginald Mercer, was a self-employed geologist, off exploring the coasts of Italy when he went missing. The story was, authorities had found his body at the base of a hidden ravine in an off-limits section of the cliffside. The remains of others who had encountered the same fate had also been found. The bodies were removed and returned to their families after DNA testing.

 

No mention of the military involvement, no mention of the drug, not even a mention of the facility. Just pictures of heartbroken families trying to answer journalists as tears poured down their faces. Gordon wondered how many of them actually bought the story of the hidden ravine.

 

He wouldn’t.

 

Virgil’s hug pulled him in closer. “Breath Gordo…”

 

Gordon let go of the breath he hadn’t realised was caught up in his chest as Mercer’s image lingered in the corner, smiling above the gasping sobs. The whole thing was grotesque. Swallowing back the dryness, he tried to nod a response to Virgil, resting his head under his chin.

 

Colonel Casey had been to visit earlier that evening, teeth gritted and a flat mouth that spoke mainly of a resigned fury that knew it wouldn't be satisfied with any realistic outcome. She initially hadn't been very clear about the extent of the cover up, avoiding giving names, but as the discussions progressed it was revealed just how widespread this Myers conspiracy had gone. Multiple facilities working on similar drugs had been constructed around the world in remote places with easy deniability. John had already pieced together other details after the initial debriefing with Scott.

 

She had placed a file on the small side table, all paper. Closure, she had called it. Gordon preferred filling in the gaps. There were details of the accident, what little research still existed, and a profile of Reginald Mercer. The file had been flipped through and past around, confirming the grisly facts. Gordon wasn't sure he had ever seen the expressions that appeared on his brother's faces before, a fact he was glad of. Virgil dropped a few shades, knuckles turning white as the blanket bunched into his fists; and John's eyes took on a darkness that was deeply uncharacteristic.

 

“I've already sent your eldest brother details of similar facilities that are currently inactive. I don't want this happening again.” It was a well known fact that the colonel was particularly protective of their family, this recent situation bringing that out. This was on her people. When it was the Hood, her wrath could be targeted at the known evil. This was a trap hidden within her organization.

 

Gordon had watched his brothers nod, Virgil matching her sentiments. “Neither do we.”

 

Then came the part that seemed most difficult for the experienced woman. “All this being said, I've been ordered to guarantee your silence on this matter. I don't like it, but a scandal this size would implicate many high ranking officers and politicians. They would most definitely make your life hell if it all got out.”

 

“You want us to cover up the military’s mistake? No, not mistake… Atrocity.” John had let his anger slip through, eyes boring into the colonel. “I understand secrets, colonel, especially when they are kept to save lives or protect something worthwhile, but sparing criminals from justice is not something we should ever have to do, even when they are powerful.”

 

The aquanaut would have agreed with his brother had it not been for the lump in his throat. The colonel's face spoke volumes even if her lips were officially tied. Gordon watched the silent stalemate before him, as it played out in his own head. This was corruption. Corruption that had cost many lives and they were now implicit in it. The implications of that squirmed inside of him to the point of nausea.

But then… maybe it was for the best. The facilities would be cleared out, they could keep an eye on them, and… and Mercer wouldn't be known as some deranged murderer who ate his victims. He was just a scientist, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An accident with a story that could help ease his family's pain. All it cost was his moral self respect. He could live with that.

 

To her credit, Casey had kept her calm demeanor. “I'm asking that, for the moment you protect your jobs as International Rescue by keeping the details to yourselves.”

 

Silence settled around them, frustrated with the entire situation, but unsure what to do about it. Gordon finally spoke, content with his answer. “Alright.” Three sets of eyes fell on him and he couldn't tell if they'd heard him clearly. “We'll keep it quiet.” Virgil looked ready to question the decision, eyes wide and brow set, but Gordon continued, hoping they would understand. “He was a victim, too. He deserves to be remembered for his life's work… not for the mistakes of a government that should've known better.”

 

The colonel had given an appreciative smile, before taking her leave. They all knew she was entrusting them with a great deal of information, probably more than her superiors had approved. It was what made their relationship work. They could continue doing their jobs, safely and effectively, as long as they could trust that the GDF had their back. That included letting them know what they'd stumbled into on any given rescue. Gordon watched her mumble to herself as she left. “It should have been given in the first place.”

 

Now, the three of them sat watching the news, hating the idea of hiding anything from the public, but understanding why… at least for the moment. It reminded Gordon of the debate they had had during the start of International Rescue, when their father had sat them down in the lounge to introduce them to Brains and a concept that blew their minds away, all in honour of their mother, but wrapped up in a blanket of secrecy aided by the world military and government. It was clear that his father had made his decision as to the conduct of International Rescue, but wanted to hear his sons thoughts on the subject. It wasn't a debate Gordon was keen on revisiting any time soon, but he had been persuaded by the fact that, in his mind, they were doing a good thing that would save thousands of lives with a strict code that would guide their actions. Corruption would be impossible.

 

Gordon sunk into his brother's side a little more, anchoring to the warmth that reminded him they were both alive. He watched John, still sitting on the end of the bed. His foot twitched an incessant beat, sending small waves through the mattress. It was a silent sign that he wasn't coping well with the situation, but wasn't willing to voice it.

 

Slowly, the blonde extended his foot under the covers until it hit the astronaut's hip. John instantly stopped, going perfectly still.

 

He looked back at Gordon. “Sorry. Got to control that.”

 

“Nothing wrong with an outlet. Especially not in this situation.” Virgil rumbled, face buried into Gordon's spikes, running his hand up and down his back. Gordon's own gaze was silent, but it extended an invitation to John. It wasn't taken. He turned back to the TV changing the channel as reports of a new world record was announced and a politician's life was being examined.

 

John frowned. “Should I turn it off?” Turn off the outside world and sit stewing in a reality that none of them wanted to be involved in at all.

 

“Nah.” Gordon finally spoke from his bundle of covers. “Put something funny on… I want to see if my throat will let me laugh.”

 

That earned the aquanaut a smile from the red-head, who moved in closer. Gordon slipped a hand into John's as the sounds of laughter rang out from the TV, Virgil finding a mindless family comedy. For this moment, they were happy to just exist in that manufactured joy, where they could leave everything at the door and just be happy.

 

THE END


End file.
